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Lyrics
[Intro]
(Slow, rhythmic thumping like a heartbeat)
(Sound of a match striking)
[Verse 1]
The fire’s eating green wood, spitting sparks against the dark
I’m sitting on a saddlebag, waiting for a mark.
But the scrub-brush isn’t empty, and the air is getting thick
With the smell of cordite smoke and a lamp without a wick.
There’s a fella by the water-trough who shouldn't be upright
He’s got a messy chest-wound that’s leaking out the light.
[Chorus]
And the lead is in the dirt, but the debt is in the room
It’s a crowded kind of lonesome in the canyon’s belly-womb.
I can’t outrun the faces, and I can’t outshoot the shade
Every notch upon the handle is a tether I have made.
Yeah, the tally-man is coming, and he’s bringing back the dead.
[Verse 2]
The Marshall’s standing quiet with a badge turned black by soot
He’s tracing circles in the sand with a heavy, limping foot.
He doesn’t reach for iron, and he doesn’t say a word
Just watches me get smaller like a tattered, broken bird.
Then the gambler from the basement—he’s shuffling thin air
With a deck of greasy nothing and a hollow, milky stare.
[Bridge]
(Music swells, distorted slide guitar)
I told 'em all to get. I told 'em "Boys, I'm done."
But you don't get a Sunday just 'cause you put down the gun.
The quiet is the hammer, and the memory is the pin
And the chamber’s always loaded with the places that I’ve been.
[Guitar Solo: Slow, weeping, minor key]
[Verse 3]
The fire’s down to embers, just a red and glowing eye
The stars are getting swallowed by a bruised and heavy sky.
I feel a hand upon my neck, cold as winter well-water
The ghost of every man I sent to the sudden, bloody slaughter.
My heart is just a dry husk, rattling in my coat
As the Waco Kid leans inward and puts a finger to my throat.
[Outro]
(Drums stop)
(Only the sound of wind whistling)
It’s a long walk...
In the dark...
With the men you left behind.
(Fade out on a single, low guitar note)
And the lead is in the dirt, but the debt is in the room
It’s a crowded kind of lonesome in the canyon’s belly-womb.
I can’t outrun the faces, and I can’t outshoot the shade
Every notch upon the handle is a tether I have made.
Yeah, the tally-man is coming, and he’s bringing back the dead.
Details
GeneratedFeb 2, 2026
Duration4:59
Style
Dark Outlaw Country, Gravelly Male Vocals, Slow Acoustic Guitar, Heavy Thumping Kick Dru
Credits
Prompt by
HamCheck
HamCheckModelAria v5
